


Morning Wood

by Lbilover



Series: Chicago Reunion Series [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Reunions, Role Playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 14:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: After a night of intense sex, Sean learns something about himself, and Elijah makes a request and a confession.





	Morning Wood

**Author's Note:**

> The third, and last, of a short series of interconnected fics set around Sean surprising Elijah in Chicago where he's filming a movie. This is established relationship Sean/Elijah, post-LOTR filming. Despite the title, not quite so entirely PWP as Keeping Promises. It's helpful, but not essential, to have seen the movie 'Harrison Bergeron'. The character box is something Sean talked about at a con some years ago.

_I think that was the most awesome display of fucking power mankind has ever witnessed._

Sean studies his reflection in the bathroom mirror while Elijah’s words from last night run through his mind, accompanied by images that, in the clear light of morning, he can hardly credit. 

Had that really been him, Sean Astin, chatting insouciantly away to a cab driver while he finger-fucked Elijah in the back seat of their taxi? Had that really been him giving Elijah rug burn on his back as he drove him down the hallway of their hotel suite with the force of mindless passion?

He doesn’t look any different to his own eyes: the same wide, snub-nosed face, the same overbite, the same too thick chin that simply refuses to give up the last vestige of Samwise. But after last night, shouldn’t he? God knows, he sure as hell feels different, and not because of the sexual acrobatics that have left rarely-used muscles protesting and assorted bruises dully throbbing. 

Life is a journey of self-discovery. It doesn’t take any bestselling pop psychologist bullshit for Sean to understand this. He’s adjusted his goals and dreams as an actor and political activist in the face of the realities of the Hollywood and Washington, DC power structures. He’s accepted having four different fathers. He’s admitted his bisexuality, and made the agonizing decision to stop living a lie and start sharing his life with the man who had inhabited his heart since the day they met. All major steps on the road to enlightenment and becoming the better person he constantly strives to be. 

But what happened last night was akin to an emotional rockslide that unexpectedly exposed a new facet to his personality, one that had previously gone unsuspected. He confronts it now with a sense of bemusement and wonder. It seems he still has a lot to learn about himself.

Say hello to Sean Astin, super stud. 

“Yeah, right,” he mutters to his reflection. Has anyone ever fit that description less aptly than he does? Still, there’s no denying Elijah _had_ been impressed by his performance, not only in the cab and the hallway, but also later in bed. Very impressed, as a matter of fact. 

Sean tries on a cocky, knowing grin, and decides he likes the fit. Maybe there’s more Rascal Moore in him than he’d realized. He squirts Gillette Foamy into his hands, covers his bristly chin in the frothy white shaving cream and picks up his razor. Rascal with a hint of that prankster Billy Tepper, too, he decides, as he draws the triple-blade razor slowly along the line of his jaw. Rascal and Billy? Now there’s a combination to shake the soul and take over the world. Sean pulls his upper lip down with his lower lip, tightening the skin under his nose so he can apply the razor there, and has a sudden mental image of the many characters he’s played over the years shrunk to a miniature size and set inside a box to interact.

As he finishes shaving and rinses the razor under the tap, Sean amuses himself by imagining what would happen in that box, what the characters would say to each other, how they would behave. Assuming, that is, that any of them survived being stuck in an enclosed space with the psychotic Randall of _Borderland_ for any length of time. Hmm, he’d have to make sure Randall wasn’t armed with a weapon. Or maybe Samwise’s innate goodness and Twoflower’s naïve optimism would defuse Randall completely, and before long they’d all be sitting down together to enjoy fried fish and chips served by S. Gamgee.

_You’re nuts, Astin._

Sean wonders what Elijah would make of his flight of fancy. Of course, his partner doesn’t get invested in his roles the way Sean does. On set, Elijah is all focus and intensity, but he never takes his characters home with him or lets them inhabit his skin. So he’d probably just say, “What?” then groan and roll his eyes, or suggest, with an evil grin, that Kevin, his character from _Sin City_ , and Randall would make a great couple. Which they would, in a sick sort of way.

Sean returns his shaving kit to his toiletry bag, then removes a tube of styling gel and anoints his damp hair, pushing the longer strands on top around with his fingers in a fair approximation of a stylish do. He finds himself making more of an effort now that he lives with Elijah, who personifies the Williamsburg hipster look and can discuss the latest fashion trends with Alexandra more knowledgeably than her own mother. 

A splash of aftershave, a slick under the arms with deodorant, and he’s done. Sean returns to the dim quiet of the bedroom, where he’d left Elijah sprawled face down on the king size bed, snoring softly into a down pillow. He’s still lying in the same position, with that tempting ass, Sean’s personal playground, in full view. But also in full view are several reddish blotches that mar the normally flawless skin of his bare back. Rug burn. The marks seem to chide him for thinking about sex again so soon. _Haven’t you had enough?_ The answer to that question is easy. No, he will never, he can never, get enough of Elijah.

But sex or no sex, Sean hates to waste a single second of this insanely difficult-to-arrange rendezvous. Elijah’s appointment with the wardrobe department for his new film isn’t until 11 o’clock. That gives them a few more precious hours alone, and Sean doesn’t really care if they spend them reading the phone book to each other as long as they’re together.

As he takes a pair of boxers and a white tee shirt out of his suitcase and pulls them on, he debates whether or not to wake Elijah. In the end decides to let him sleep on, and hunts down the remote for the TV so he can indulge his inner CNN junkie, but keeps the volume turned down low. Then he goes to retrieve the complimentary copy of _USA Today_ that has undoubtedly been left outside their door. Sean notices that the nap of the beige carpet in the hallway has been flattened in a forward direction, as if someone had taken a giant iron to it. Maybe he should be embarrassed, but on sum, his primary emotion is still smug self-satisfaction at his ‘awesome fucking power’. Rascal remains in blithe, egomaniacal ascendancy.

The suite that was booked for Elijah by the movie production company has all the amenities, including a kitchenette. Sean decides the next order of business is to make a pot of coffee; he desperately needs the caffeine, for one thing, but if the alluring smell happens to wake Elijah, he certainly won’t complain. He’d planned on them going for breakfast at Lou Mitchell’s on Jackson Boulevard, craving something substantial and satisfying after the skimpy dinner he’d had on the plane from California. There’s still enough time, if Elijah doesn’t sleep too much longer. His stomach gives a greedy rumble at the thought of a plateful of their pecan waffles sprinkled with powdered sugar and drowned in syrup. 

After he gets the coffee going, Sean rests his hip against the white Formica counter, and shakes open _USA Today_ , more for something to do to pass the time until the coffee brews than because he finds it fascinating reading. News lite, he thinks ruefully, and wishes it was the _Tribune_ instead.

The coffee maker starts producing promising noises, and just as the first fragrant drops are spilling into the glass carafe, to the accompaniment of more rumbles from his impatient stomach, a buck naked Elijah shuffles into the room, yawning and scratching at his belly, which is speckled with what looks like dried milk or instant mashed potatoes flakes, but is actually, as Sean knows better than anyone, their mingled semen. 

Sean folds the paper and chucks it onto the counter behind him. “Hey,” he says, smiling. Other than his daughters, no one except Elijah has ever been able to fill him with such boundless joy just by his mere presence. 

“Hey yourself,” replies Elijah, giving him a sleepy grin in return. He raises his arms over his head, clasps his hands and stretches lazily, to the accompaniment of several soft _pops_ as his tight joints relax. “Sorry to sleep so late.” 

“’Sokay, Lij,” Sean replies. But he’s distracted and with good reason. Shit, but Elijah looks totally amazing, he thinks. He devours Elijah’s lean pale body with his eyes, a body that a recent regimen of weight lifting and workouts has chiseled and toned. But it isn’t only the sharper muscle definition and the added bulk to his shoulders and upper arms that hold Sean riveted. Elijah’s hair is standing up every which way, his scruffy beard is scruffier than ever, and his lower eyelids are puffy. The hickey just above his collarbone stands out like a brand, and there are smudges of blue-black on his thighs and hips - bruises put there by Sean. He looks exactly like what he is: a guy who has been thoroughly and enthusiastically fucked by his partner. 

It’s useless to deny the possessive thrill the sight gives him. _Mine_. The words he’d spoken aloud last night reverberate through his mind. _You’re mine_.

Elijah finishes his sensuous cat-like stretch, and then, without a word, slides his arms around Sean’s waist and burrows against him. Seconds tick past as they hold each other in grateful silence. Moments such as these have been all too rare of late, between the twin pulls of careers and families.

“Oh man, I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Elijah finally says, and pulls back. There is an expression almost of wonder in his eyes.

“My performance last night was that forgettable?” Sean raises his eyebrows in feigned astonishment. “You wound me.”

Elijah grins and pinches his ass. “Fishing for compliments, Irish?” 

“Nah, I can tell when I have a satisfied customer,” Sean boasts.

“You got that right. Fuck, am I one satisfied customer!” Elijah wraps his arms around him again and hugs Sean hard enough to make his ribs creak. “Mm, you smell _fantastic_ ,” he murmurs into Sean’s neck.

“So do you.”

“I haven’t even showered yet,” Elijah points out.

“I know. You smell like sex, Elwood.” Sean breathes deeply of the musky mix of sweat and come then makes an ‘Mm’ sound of his own.

“Turns you on, does it?” Elijah relaxes his hold and lifts his head; a familiar glint sparks in the depths of his eyes.

“What do you think?” With only the thin barrier of his cotton boxers separating them, the tightening at his groin is blatantly apparent.

“I think… coffee can wait.” He transfers his gaze to Sean’s mouth, which is still slightly swollen from the bruising, desperate kisses they’d shared last night. He leans in, and lightly runs the tip of his tongue along the line of Sean’s protruding upper lip, then slides it into his mouth and coaxes his lips apart with his own, softly but insistently. 

This is no bruising, desperate kiss, for the keen edge of hunger has been blunted. They take their time, sipping at each other’s lips like hummingbirds seeking the sweetest nectar. Sean rests his hands lightly at Elijah’s hips, cognizant of still-tender bruises, while Elijah strokes his palms up and down Sean’s arms, slipping his hands under the sleeves of his white tee to caress the softer skin there. 

But the kiss gradually deepens, and Sean abandons caution to cup the firm satin-smooth globes of Elijah’s ass and pull him in tighter, pinning their swelling erections together between them. Elijah makes an impatient noise deep in his throat, and pushes Sean hard against the counter while his hands move to either side of Sean’s skull to hold him steady while he french-kisses him. 

And then, with startling abruptness, Elijah drops his hands and tears his mouth away. 

“You’ve got that shit in your hair again!” he states accusingly.

“Wha…” Sean is too bemused to form a coherent response.

“That fucking hair gel. I hate it when you use that shit.” Elijah wrinkles his nose and makes a disgusted face as he tweaks one of the longer strands of Sean’s hair that curls on his brow. “Yuck.”

“Ouch!” Sean yelps. “Lij…”

But Elijah isn’t listening. He turns around and picks up one of the chrome and black stools next to the island that divides the kitchenette from the suite’s living room. Then he holds out his free hand to Sean.

“Elijah, what are you doing?”

“That’s not in the script, Sean,” Elijah says severely. “Take my hand.”

So Sean does, wondering what the hell has gotten into Elijah. But as he’s pulled out of the kitchenette and into the bathroom by fingers tacky with the residue of the hair gel, a sense of déjà vu creeps over him. Why is this scenario so oddly familiar? And what script are they following and why?

Elijah drops Sean’s hand and carries the stool into the glass-enclosed walk-in shower. He sets it down, steps behind it and faces forward, watching Sean expectantly. Sean stands there with his hands on his hips, confused, until understanding dawns at last. _Harrison Bergeron_. They’re following the script to _Harrison Bergeron_ , a movie he’d made… Jesus, it must be nearly 15 years ago now. 

Holding out his hands, palms upward, Elijah makes a come-hither gesture with a wave of his fingers. Without a word, because he’s pretty sure that Harrison hadn’t said anything either, Sean enters the shower. Elijah takes him by the shoulders, turns him around and pushes him down, not gently, onto the stool.

Script or not script, Sean feels obligated to protest. “Elwood, I’ve already showered this morning.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re deviating from the script,” Elijah chides. 

With a rueful shake of his head, Sean subsides, and prepares for his second shower of the morning. But what the hell, it’ll be a lot more enjoyable than his first one.

Elijah reaches for the handle to turn the shower on, and Sean lets out a startled, unscripted yelp as he’s deluged in cold water. “Fuck!”

“Sorry!” Elijah giggles, and hastily adjusts the water temperature to something more acceptably warm. “That better?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, back to the script.” Elijah picks up Sean’s shampoo, squirts it liberally over his hair and begins to massage his scalp. “This crap is coming out of your hair for good,” he says with some vehemence, digging his fingers in, and Sean is pretty certain that he’s got the dialogue down pat, word for word, which considering that he’d had no idea Elijah had ever seen the movie, is pretty incredible. They’ve role played, but never before have they reenacted a scene from one of their movies, not even the movie they’d been in together, _The Lord of the Rings_.

Elijah might not take his own characters home, but apparently he’s carried another character around with him for quite some time: Phillipa, Harrison’s doomed love interest in the movie. Sean has to think hard to recall the sequence of events. It’s been a while since he’s seen _Harrison Bergeron_.

“Oh, you are like a whole century out of date,” Elijah goes on, scrubbing Sean’s scalp so hard that his head flops from side to side. “This whole thing is like some kind of oil company conspiracy. I can’t even _believe_ they still use this stuff!”

With such a perfect prompt, Sean falls easily enough into his role, and manages to dredge his lines from the depths of memory. “Hey, I’ve never had any complaints before.” He scrunches up his face as soapy water streams down and threatens his eyes; he wipes it away with the sides of his fingers, and huffs a laugh.

“Spare me,” Elijah retorts, sweeping the sodden hair back from Sean’s forehead, and allowing the shower to rinse out the shampoo. “Now promise you’ll never go near this stuff again.” 

“I promise!”

Elijah shuts off the water. There’s silence as Sean gets up and turns to face him. It’s the silence of anticipation and building sexual arousal. Sean can well remember how nervous he’d been before filming this scene, his first-ever adult sex in a movie. Miranda de Pencier could not have been kinder or more encouraging, same with Bruce and the rest of the crew. She had been lovely to kiss, but there was no question of arousal in such a situation, not with his mind focused on hitting his marks and remembering his lines. And Chris had been on set, too, and not particularly thrilled that her husband was kissing another woman. 

But if ever he gets to do such a scene with Elijah… well, marks to hit or no, watching eyes or no, he will no more be able to help becoming aroused than he can stop breathing. Professionalism be damned. 

They stare into each other’s eyes, breaths coming quicker and quicker, and no acting is required.

“I mean it,” Elijah says, and he’s not talking about hair gel now.

“So do I,” replies Sean. He rests his left hand against the slick tile and leans in. They kiss, a smacking kiss, shift their positions, kiss again, laugh. Elijah cups one hand at the nape of Sean’s neck as Sean crowds him into the corner of the shower stall. Then he tilts his head back, and lets out a shaky half-sob as Sean kisses the tender spot behind his ear, and then brushes kisses along the line of his jaw, and ends by nuzzling his face in his throat. 

“Why Phillipa, you’ve grown a beard,” Sean says, grinning. “Unexpected, but it definitely suits you.” He is rewarded by the world’s best giggle as he straightens and raises a quizzical eyebrow. “So what now, Mr. Director? This is the end of the shower scene.”

“We keep following the script, of course.”

“I’m supposed to pretend I’ve never had sex with you before?” Sean asks dubiously. “That’s a tall order.”

“I expect you’re up to the, uh, acting challenge, Irish.” Elijah’s eyes drop to the impressive erection outlined by Sean’s soaking wet, nearly see-through boxers. “Besides,” he adds with an impish grin, “I’ve always fancied being the one to teach you what to do.”

“Lij, trust me, no one has ever taught me more than you have,” Sean says. “But if it’ll make you happy…”

“It’ll make me happy.”

“All right then. Let’s do it.”

In short order Sean is back in bed. His hair is dry and totally goop-free, and he’s dressed in a fresh white tee and boxers- good thing he always packs a few spares in case of emergency, although this kind of emergency had certainly never occurred to him. Just like Harrison, he’s propped up on his elbow, covered to the waist by the blankets, and waiting for his soon-to-be lover to appear. 

God, he was only 24 years old when _Harrison Bergeron_ was made, Sean thinks. He wonders if he appears totally ludicrous, trying to imitate that former self who was so young, lean and fit. And then Elijah enters the bedroom and the look on his face, as if he’s just set eyes on the sexiest, handsomest guy on the entire planet, provides all the answer Sean needs. 

Elijah is wearing a white velour bathrobe that must have been supplied by the hotel because, to the best of Sean’s knowledge, he doesn’t actually own a bathrobe. As Elijah slowly approaches the bed, his hands shoved deep into the bathrobe pockets, Sean says, “Alma and I didn’t… I- I mean, I didn’t… I haven’t…”

“I know.” Elijah stops and stares down at him with a reassuring expression. His eyes are alight, as blue as Sean has ever seen them.

“So you’ll… tell me if I’m doing things right?” Strange, the dimly remembered words come easily, and he can almost believe them. Such is the power of Elijah’s own emotional investment in this game they are playing. 

“You already are,” Elijah softly replies, and his hands go to the belt knotted at his waist. He unties it and lets the bathrobe fall open. Unlike Phillipa, he is totally naked beneath the velour, but Sean doesn’t tease him, doesn’t ask where his bra and panties are. In ways he doesn’t understand, at least not yet, this is too important to Elijah to make light of. And as Elijah shrugs the robe off and lets it fall to the floor, Sean’s mouth goes dry and he can’t think of anything but making love to this incredibly beautiful young man.

Elijah places his hands on the mattress, and bends to kiss him. Sean steadies him with a hand between his shoulder blades, and then, as Elijah sets his right knee down and deepens their kiss, Sean rears up and twists his body around to cover Elijah as he falls onto his back. 

What follows is nothing like the artful, tasteful sex in the movie, with its fade into the saxophone playing on the TV and the camera angles that don’t reveal too much bare skin as he and Miranda give a tame, even decorous, impression of two lovers tussling among the sheets. 

Sex with Elijah is neither tame nor decorous. It’s sweaty, it’s urgent, it’s noisy, and it’s impatient: Sean’s tee and boxers are removed within seconds of Elijah hitting the mattress, and flung away with élan. 

“That’s more like it,” Elijah says with satisfaction, sweeping Sean’s naked body with a heated gaze. “The one thing I never liked about this scene was that you had your clothes on for way too long, and I couldn’t see enough of you.”

“I expect getting a rating for the movie that would allow it to be shown on television might have had something to do with that,” Sean says, grinning. 

“Maybe, but it would have sure attracted a lot more viewers if they could’ve seen this.” He runs his fingers down the length of Sean’s erect cock, which jerks and twitches under his touch.

“Perv,” Sean gasps, as those clever fingers slide between his legs and gently squeeze and roll his balls.

Elijah laughs and releases him then hooks his leg around Sean’s waist, pulling him close so that their bodies are flush once more, but with no cotton barrier between them. They move together, kissing deeply, while their hands roam over sweat-slick skin, exploring and touching as if it is indeed their very first time.

“How am I doing?” Sean asks when they come up for air.

“I think you’re a natural,” Elijah assures him. “Now shut up and kiss me again.”

So Sean does. But close as they are, he wants to be closer still, and he slides his arm under Elijah’s knee and forces his leg higher until it’s hooked over Sean’s shoulder, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Not even a ton of lube could possibly make anal sex comfortable for Elijah so soon after last night, but a little light butt play will definitely enhance the frottage experience for him. Sean searches out the sensitive bud of Elijah’s asshole, finds it, and plies it with his forefinger, alternately stroking and pressing until the younger man is whimpering against Sean’s mouth and moving his hips with increasing urgency. 

“Sean, Sean… _fuck_.” Elijah lifts his head. His eyebrows are contracted with fierce concentration, his eyelids half-closed so that only a glimmer of cobalt blue can be seen. Sweat trickles down his temples and his lower lip is clenched between his small white teeth. His hand works its way down between their bodies to wrap around their cocks, where it’s joined moments later by Sean’s free hand. They lace their fingers together to create a tight cocoon, into which they thrust harder and harder, as the unstoppable force of orgasm rises inside them and finally, blissfully sweeps them away. 

“Oh shit. Oh fuck,” Elijah says, slumping onto his back.

“I don’t recall that being in the script, Elwood.” Sean raises himself on one elbow, and gazes down into his partner’s flushed face and those astonishing blue eyes that practically glow with satiated satisfaction.

“But this is,” Elijah replies, indicating Sean’s pose with a sweeping gesture. That wondering look is back in his eyes. This, Sean realizes with an almost physical pain as his heart clenches, is what’s important to Elijah. Not the sex. This. 

“Oh fuck, Sean, if you only knew how often I imagined this moment. You, looking down at me just the way you looked at Phillipa.” He reaches up and twines a soft, springy curl around his finger, and smiles happily. But then the smile fades, and he adds uncertainly, “Do you think I’m nuts?”

“Why would I?” Sean asks. “It’s clearly been an important fantasy for you. If I could help fulfill it, nothing makes me happier.”

“Yeah but… we’re both actors. We both know the score. People like to use us, use our characters, to fantasize about and get off. It seems… I don’t know…” Elijah hesitates, clearly searching for the correct words, “wrong for us to use each other that same way.”

“Why? We aren’t allowed to have fantasy lives, too?” Sean takes Elijah’s hand and kisses the palm gently then lets it go. “Has that really been worrying you? I’ve been wondering why you never told me before today that you’d seen _Harrison Bergeron_.”

“I was afraid you’d think I was crazy or creepy or something,” Elijah confesses. “Sean, I was fifteen years old the first time I saw you in Harrison Bergeron. I thought you were the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen, and I wanted to be Phillipa so badly. I was so fucking envious of her, you have no idea. I wanted to be the one with you in that bed, I wanted to be the first person you ever fucked.” 

“Phillipa had a pretty tragic ending,” Sean reminds him. 

“Maybe. But I bet she would have said it was all worthwhile, just to have Harrison for that little while. I bet she never forgot him, even if they did fuck with her brain. Deep down inside, she never forgot. I know it, because I’d never forget you either, no matter what anyone did to me.”

“Oh Elijah…” The lump in Sean's throat makes it impossible to go on. “So, what made you finally decide to tell me?”

“Last night,” Elijah says simply. He takes Sean’s hand, linking their fingers together. “Sean, what we shared last night… it was so intense, and I know how hard you find it to let go completely like that, what it must have taken. So I thought it was time I was brave, too, and came clean about my crush on you.” His cheeks redden with embarrassment. “I’m not even gonna tell you how many times I watched the scene and jerked off imagining that you were making love to me.” 

“Why not? I’d be very interested in that particular statistic, as a matter of fact,” Sean teases. 

“Sean,” Elijah laughs and shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hopefully something similar to what we were just doing, but not for a little while. For one thing, I need a shower – my third of the morning, I’ll have you know – and for another, I’m starving. I need some breakfast.” Sean sits up and swings his legs out of bed. Still holding Elijah’s hand, he stands, and pulls Elijah to his feet.

“You sure you aren’t weirded out by what I just told you?” Elijah asks. There is a lingering hint of uncertainty in his eyes as they search Sean’s face.

“I’m absofuckinglutely sure. I love you, Elwood.” Then Sean smiles, thinking of his character box fantasy of earlier, and knowing now that he can tell Elijah about his flight of fancy and he’ll understand. 

“What?” Elijah asks curiously. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing that can’t wait until we’re chowing down on a giant breakfast at Lou Mitchell’s. C’mon, let’s go shower.”

As he leads Elijah to the bathroom, Sean has a fleeting image of Harrison. He’s sitting in the character box with a blissed-out, just-been-shagged expression on his face. The rest of Sean’s characters – Sam, Smith, Rudy, Randall, Twoflower, Rascal, Billy, even Mikey – are standing around, looking decidedly envious. 

Maybe they’ll each need a turn out of the box, he thinks.

~end~


End file.
